


Holding On

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, set after the battle against Azog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all, who wants to listen to one's own words?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this headcanon](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com/post/109416070696/ok-hear-me-out-you-know-how-at-the-end-of-auj) by kurosmind at tumblr
> 
> Rating: PG - 13  
> Disclaimer: I DON’T own anyone or anything. I DON’T own the characters. The fanfic is written for fun, NOT for profit.

Although his senses were still highly alerted, all energy faded away when Thorin buried his sword deep in Azog’s chest. He sank to his knees in exhaustion as he witnessed how the monster’s eyes turned glassy, all life draining from them. His worst enemy was no more. A long-desired satisfaction settled deep in his chest, almost as strong as it had been when Erebor had been reclaimed, and he allowed himself to rest for the first time in eternity. Revenge was taken, the war was over. What an irony that the attack of an orc army had eventually prevented the expected battle between dwarves, men and elves, had dragged him from the claws of madness that had clouded his judgement.

His breath came out in ragged spurts, creating fog in the cold air. Only now that he was slowly settling at the sight of the dead white orc, Thorin became aware of the amount of injuries he had gained throughout his attempt to protect home, family and kinsmen. He winced in pain as he shifted, the cold of the ice beneath slowly creeping under layers of fabric and battle armour. His mind threatened to spin out of control as his surrounding turned blurry. Tightly holding on to his sword, he tried to prevent darkness from claiming him and instead anchor himself in the present.

His name, shouted by an all too familiar voice, made Thorin lift his gaze. The shape of a short figure hurried across the ice towards him. He blinked a few times to clear his view, the hint of a smile gracing his lips at the rush of relief the sight caused.

“Bilbo,” he breathed. He could fully see him now and was surprised to find himself confronted with a furious glare from the hobbit. That loyal halfling from the far Shire, the only one brave enough to step up, had prevent the dwarf king from causing even further harm. Ever since he had left his beloved home behind, the hobbit had proven unexpected strength and impressive smartness on various occasions. The small one who was so used to his books and gardens had fought without fear for a bunch of dwarves, wishing so much to help them succeed. 

Now said halfling stared at Thorin as if he wanted to offer a decent punch to knock him out for good.

“What were you thinking?” Bilbo shouted, eyes blazing with anger. “I’m aware of dwarves’ tendency to be stubborn and ignore all good advice or offered help, especially when it comes to you. But this…” He gestured at the remains of Azog. “Facing this monster all by yourself? Getting injured and almost killed? Why wouldn’t you call for help? Why would you…?” The hobbit’s words trailed off and for the split of a moment, something else shone through in those blue eyes that used to sparkle with wit and curiosity.

Fear. Pain. Raw and intense.

Thorin opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance. Furiously rubbing his eyes, Bilbo lurched forward and closed his arms around the dwarf king in a firm embrace. “Don’t you ever dare to do that again,” the hobbit said, tightly holding on to whatever piece of fabric he could reach. “Stupid, reckless dwarves.”

Thorin returned the gesture, overwhelmed and taken by surprise. A strange kind of calmth settled in the depth of his chest, dulling the throbbing pain of bruises, cuts and other bleeding wounds and the numbing cold. He tightened his arms around the distraught hobbit who kept on muttering, switching between cursing and praising.

“It’s over,” he said quietly.

Pulling back, Bilbo met his gaze again, eyes narrowing. “The battle might be, but this here, Thorin Oakenshield, is over when I say so.” A tear eventually escaped, rolling down the hobbit’s dirty cheek, leaving a wet trail in its wake. Yet, he couldn’t resist a small, relieved smile of his own and his expression softened when he said, “We made it.” He cupped the dwarf’s face with warm, gentle hands. “Battered and bruised, but alive.”

Thorin held Bilbo’s gaze, offering a nod in response. No further words were spoken as the hobbit helped him to get back on in his feet, led him away from the dead enemy, back to where the battle had ended and loved ones were waiting.


End file.
